


fate don't fail me now

by oncewewerezombies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gratuitous Star Trek References, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Papping, Shooshing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7860853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the voice of reason was not a task that traditionally went to the cooler blood. The trope, almost the entire genre of pale romance stories that existed in all of the Alternian Empire, whether cinematic, literary or other, was devoted to a mid or low-blood steadfastly and passionately attending to their higher blooded moirail. Being the voice of reason. Sanity. A rock to steady a highblood's nervous tension to, warmer hands papping cooler cheeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fate don't fail me now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeurotropicAgentX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeurotropicAgentX/gifts).



> If you do not wish to join me in rare pale pair hell, I would also love to see some god ol’ fashioned pale Nepeta & Equius. I love the headcanon that Equius is actual reasonably calm, as far as trolls go, and he often needs to sooth a feral, violent Nepeta.
> 
> If you could work in the angle where Equius is happy to be strong and durable because calming down a claw-happy Nepta is pretty damn hard, that would be great. If in some AU, Nepeta hits her growth spurt first and ends up huge, I would be delighted. Just picture giant midblood Nepeta and smaller, plucky Equius (who can still bench press something much bigger than him).

Being the voice of reason was not a task that traditionally went to the cooler blood. The trope, almost the entire genre of pale romance stories that existed in all of the Alternian Empire, whether cinematic, literary or other, was devoted to a mid or low-blood steadfastly and passionately attending to their higher blooded moirail. Being the voice of reason. Sanity. A rock to steady a highblood's nervous tension to, warmer hands papping cooler cheeks.

You...never really expected your moirallegiance to turn out like this, and yet.

And yet. 

You really should have realised it would turn out like this when you found her face-deep inside a branchhorn beast's carcass when you were both three sweeps old. 

She had, she'd informed you with macabre delight, while you restrained the urge to puke and disgrace yourself and your blood, brought it down herself and that it was her kill and look at how big it was. The biggest! Bigger than anything else she'd ever caught. She'd been so proud, beaming through a mask of bright red beastblood. It had been the first time you'd met each other. When she'd asked you if you wanted some, you actually had vomited. Even at three sweeps, meat had not had the appeal to you that it seemed to have for other trolls. And when you figured what grub everything supposedly edible actually was, that it was made out of real grubs - _well_.

Something else that should have been more than marely alluded to in your combined school feedings was how much _bigger_ your moiral was likely to get in second pupation. And how much sooner that would be than your own. Currently your horntips barely reach her shoulder, and it's made for some difficulties in some things. Cool blood is more like a long term investment, the body matures slowly even if the mind seems to match at each point down the line. Although perhaps you just have a very wriggler-like moirail - this is also a strong possibility. Some pastimes of her adolescence she has put aside. Others...not so much. It's fine. Everyone needs hobbies.

It's just a pity that when she posts her own manufactured stories based in the fictional constants of _The continual and ongoing serial adventures of a daring and patriotic seadweller captain in an exploratory vessel on the outreaches of explored Alternian space while accompanied by diverse companions, their quest to conquer new civilisations and seek out resources for the Empire...and marked by the serial demise of any visible crew member of the rust persuasion in every episode...includes multiple pailing allusions unsuitable for wrigglers of under five sweeps and scenes of violence suitable for any age_ , if she doesn't get the feedback that she feels she deserves, you need to calm her down. Some of the comments are occasionally cruel, you'll agree, and sometimes they are criticism that you feel really could lead to her writing becoming clearer and more concise, perhaps a little more readable. Improvement, you've been told, is something she'll come to on her own through practise and she doesn't need people harshing her squee and raining hate down on her favourite ships.

You don't understand why she feels that way or even what 'squee' actually means, but that isn't really the point.

Still, this is why you're currently dodging thrown books and listening to her shriek about people who couldn't appreciate the obvious rightness of Spocck and Jamest for each other in a pale relationship and how every troll who ever, ever shipped them flush just didn't appreciate _what a true moirallegiance should look like_ and had obviously never had one of their own. Or not one that counted, Equius, they just don't understand how wrong it would be to ship Jamest and Spocck _**flushed!**_

"Nepeta -"

"-I mean it's just truly _inconceivable_ to me how they could efur! I mean, the _glances_ alone, they're simply _awash_ in PALE MEANING! And it's pawvious that Spocck really wants there to be something more with Jamest, but he's too in control of his _emotions_ to efur pawsibily say anything!" She's ranting, striding across your shared compartment's recblock, hands gesticulating wildly. You wonder idly if anyone from your wrigglerhood adventures would ever have connected Nepeta the rather short oliveblood with the huge jacket with this full grown adult in front of you. She still had the jacket, but it would not have even fitted the sleeves over her wrists at the height and breadth she is now. You're somehow proud and perturbed at the same time. "That's not even _mewtioning_ the times they've saved each ofur! I mean, they come so close to shooshing each ofur, it's OBSCENE! Not to mention the biggest tease by the writers! They should just pap and get it _ofur_ with!"

You grab the statute of your first attempt at a microsized hoofbeast robot out of the air gently as she picks it up and launches it, and place it gently away. Hopefully out of reach. You had been very proud of it when you'd finished it, it had moved its head up and down, it had stamped its hooves. For when you'd made it, it had been quite the pinnacle of your skills. You've moved far beyond it now, but you keep it for sentimental reasons. At least, you'd be upset to see it damaged and usually Nepeta would not even dream of doing something like this, but she can go a little overboard depending on how vociferous the ah, 'haters' were being on derivativeliteratureofdevotees.alternet. Apparently they were being rather vocal about the latest update she had posted to her long running serial story. Not in a pleasant way.

Reaching up, you pat her cheek and stop her longwinded tirade right in its tracks. "Shoosh." Her mouth opens again, revealing long fangs and you pap her harder, leaning up on your tiptoes to make sure your palm hits her cheek firmly. Finger in front of your lips as you shhhh her, interupting every word out of her mouth with SHH. Shoosh. Shh. Shhshshshsh. She doesn't want to calm and tries to push you away, her hand covering all of your shoulder but you stand your ground, push back. Thankfully, even if you are shorter than her now, less massive, you're still more than a match for your moirail in STRONGNESS. There are very few trolls who are as strong as you.

"It's my story," she protests weakly, and you pap her a little harder, a little faster. You can just about see the glaze stealing over her eyes, those beautiful olive shaded irises. You get both your hands onto her cheeks and rub, pull her down so your foreheads are touching and your breaths are mingling. "I worked so hard on it, and they're just being mean, Sweatquius! I should be able to go to their hives and stomp on their pushers like they're trying to do to mine." The corners of her mouth stretch back in a snarl, and you pap her a little harder. Sometimes you wonder if any other trolls have this particular set of problems with their moirail. You're sure there must be some, if your experience with 'creative types' is anything to go by.

You refuse to believe that you are one of those, even if sometimes you destroy parts of your workblock equipment in a rage of frustration over something not working as it should.Thankfully, those are becoming rarer and rarer occurrences, while Nepeta's rage has climbed off the scales. Will you be like this after your second pupation, still sweeps in the future? And will your moirail ever calm down? Maybe it was just hormones. You really wish she'd find a kismesis; that would probably help a great deal with all of her destructive energy. Maybe you should...no, no that is a terrible idea. You have no sense of romance, as you've been told before, and you are not going to start meddling in your moirail's quadrants; you have no doubt that you would mess it up spectacularly. The most you can do for her, what you should do, is what you're doing just now.

"Why don't you read it to me?" you suggest, and her shoulders drop, smelling the sweet scents of pacification starting to drift from her as you keep your cool hands on her warm cheeks in defiance of every pale stereotype you've ever come across. Watching the rage drain out of her under your hands. It is one of the most satisfying things you've ever seen in your life. Honestly, it might make you somewhat deviant, but you really can't get enough of it. You just want to see her be calm and happy, for all of her life. As long as you can. "I promise to make no disparaging remarks."

"You will; I know you, Equius. You just can't help yourself."

"I will, at the least, keep them to a minimum."

"...I supaws that will have to do. I think you have a deal here."

You smile, just a little as she smiles back, wider, pleased. "I think the pile in your block might be a more congenial location," you suggest, and she nods. Her fingers wrap around yours, her hand engulfing yours and she pulls you towards her respiteblock. Crisis averted, it seemed. For now, that is sufficient enough for your purposes. You really hope the next chapter gets a better reception. Not that you don't appreciate the chance to pacify your moirail or an excuse to pile, but you're not sure if your furniture can take it on a long term basis. You really needed to replace that comfortblock anyway, but really...

Anyway, the point remains, you would never want to swap your moirail for any other troll in all of the universe, and that is simply the end of the matter.

Even if it means you have to listen to her read her interminable and never ending attempts at derivative fiction and try to hold your tongue when you wish to point out that a blueblood as noble and courageous as Spocck would never act so wishy-washy around a seadweller. So confiding, so very...not blue. You do think she would ask you for your actual opinion at some point, considering you are a blueblood yourself but you're sure that reality is not the point of Nepeta's writing excursions and aggresses on good taste.

Personally, you prefer Spocck and Jamest in a caliginous relationship, but you are never, _never_ going to tell Nepeta _that _.__

**Author's Note:**

> Bless meowrails.


End file.
